


Just Passing Through

by lizziealex



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-27 12:23:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizziealex/pseuds/lizziealex
Summary: On his way down south, Alexander finds himself pulling into the driveway of a familiar mansion. Why he's there, what happened? We'll have to find out.





	1. Good Morning

For once in his life, everything was quiet in Alexander Hamilton’s head. There was no hum of the New York streets, there was no yelling from the apartment next door to his. What he could hear, however, was the sound of a river rushing just close enough to hear. There were bird calls and a warm, gentle wind blowing in through a slightly open French door in the room. And classical music playing - softly, but loud enough that it came through the closed bedroom door. 

Alexander pulled the light, fluffy duvet over his head and tried to ignore it. He was still walking the line between waking and sleeping and didn’t want to cross into waking. It was rare that he got a full night’s sleep, and he wanted to enjoy it as long as possible. The bed around him was soft, covered in light cotton sheets - white with blue stripes going down them. He assumed the cotton would be stiff and scratchy given that he was sleeping in a guest room that he thought no one used, but they were instead soft and smelled of wind - had they been dried outside? There were tissues on the nightstand, a half empty box that he figured was there for whomever needed them. 

He heard a crash come from downstairs and decided that he needed to get up. Though his bed was comfortable, the day was starting - a bit of sunlight starting to peek over the tree line - and he should become part of it. He pushed the duvet down and kicked his legs over the side of the bed, landing on chilled hardwood floors. As he stood up, he adjusted the too-long pyjama pants to face the correct way and stretched his arms to the ceiling. The four poster bed he slept on was slightly taller than he, though he still tried to reach the top. Groaning and with his vertebrae remembering that they did indeed have to hold him up, he padded lightly to the French doors, and walked out to the balcony. 

Alexander surveyed his surroundings, taking in the warm sun. He had rarely gone further south than Boston, so this was a treat. Being so used to the bustle of a city, the countryside calmed him - his normally manic mind was slowed, as though his mental illness also realized that they were in a slower area and it didn’t need to be on constant alert. As he looked around, he came to the conclusion that the city, while it had been his first home, was probably not the right place for him. Though, this place probably wasn’t either - eventually he would overstay his welcome and he would have to go elsewhere. The wind blew again, bring the smell of hay and fresh cut grass with it, again reminding him that at some point, he would blow away from here too. 

Sighing to himself, he turned from the balcony to go back inside. He figured that he should probably at least go make sure his host was okay - that crash had been loud. He gently closed the glass door behind him and grabbed his t-shirt off the floor as he walked out of the room. As he pulled the shirt over his head, he smelled it - eggs, something floury cooking, something warm and sweet, and coffee. He wondered where his host learned to cook, or even if he was cooking. With the size of the house, Alexander wouldn’t have been surprised to go downstairs to find a maid or book. He quickly walked down the stairs, feet slipping slightly on each on so as not to fall and made his way to the dining room. 

Through the doorway to the kitchen from the dining room, he heard the music he had heard earlier louder, and someone was humming along. He followed to scent of coffee into the kitchen, and found a tall man tapping his foot and humming while watching pancakes to make sure they didn’t burn. Hamilton stayed near the door, not wanting to disturb his host who was clearly focused on what he was doing, and watched as he gently swayed in time with the violins in the music. As the music reached a crescendo, his host lifted his arms as though conducting the orchestra, and brought them down gracefully with a wave-like crash. Somehow, the man managed to miss the hot griddle and his coffee mug next to it and not hit anything while waving the spatula as a baton. Alexander was rapt, watching the man as the song changed to something more gentle. He started to hum and smile. 

“Nice moves,” Alexander said quietly, barely phasing the man in front of him. 

“Thanks,” his host said quietly, still humming along to the music without turning to look to Alexander, “There’s coffee if you’d like - it’s fairly strong, but I figured that’s what you liked so…” 

“I would love some, thanks,” Alexander pushed himself off the doorframe, moving towards the empty coffee mug on the counter next to the full one that narrowly escaped death. Alexander filled his mug to the brim, and took a sip, humming as it slowly warmed his body. 

“How is it?” the man to his left asked quietly, flipping the pancakes. 

“Perfect, thank you. How long until you’re done?” Alexander asked, leaning his right hip against the counter to look at his host. 

“Probably a couple more minutes, if you can wait,” he replied.

“I can wait.” 

“That’s new,” the host turned to him, smiling big, “I would have never guessed that you, Alexander Hamilton, could wait for anything.”

“Well, the south apparently agrees with me,” Alexander replied, smiling back, “I guess you were right, this place is a lot nicer than any apartment in New York or hotel room in Boston.” 

“I told you,” the other replied, putting the four large pancakes onto a platter, “Monticello is more beautiful than anywhere.” 

Alexander laughed quietly, thinking back to his time in South Carolina. The fields he passed to get to the estate, how time had seemed to stop around the end of the 18th century and the residents had just kept building in the same style. Every house had seemed the same, with tall columns of white and large acreage surrounding it. 

Alexander had apparently been quiet for too long, as Thomas looked over at him with a question poised on his lips. Alexander pushed himself off the counter and walked into the dining room before the question could come. 

Thomas put the food he had prepared on the ledge between the dining room and kitchen, and Alexander grabbed it and put it on the long table. The food smelled heavenly, with sausage, eggs, and pancakes, fresh fruit - more food than Alexander had seen in awhile, and far better for him to boot. He knew he would have to force it down, as it would be thicker and heartier than anything he had eaten since he was 18 and started college. 

Alexander sat at one end of the table and Thomas sat at the other, situated as both heads of the table with no one else at it. As Thomas started grabbing at food, using his smaller plate for fruit and the larger one for pancakes and eggs but avoiding the sausage, Alexander found himself enraptured by his movement. Thomas moved as though a waltz was playing constantly - elegantly and confidently, always in control. 

Alexander was jealous. 

Slowly, as not to knock over the carafe of coffee to his left, Alexander picked up a pancake and a small amount of eggs, eying the sausage and wondering if it would make his stomach twist. It was such a nice day, he didn’t want to spend it inside, curled up in bed in pain. He decided that if the eggs went down okay without pain, he would have a patty of sausage. The fruit called him, a mixture of pineapple, mango, and papaya. He stared at it, unsure of how to get the fruit to him while Thomas was eating and reading a book. 

“Thomas…,” Alexander said quietly, “could you…... ?” he pointed uselessly at the platter of fruit. 

Thomas looked up from his book, trying to figure out what his guest wanted, “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” he picked up the platter easily, handing it to Alexander who took it with both hands. As Thomas handed the platter to him, his bicep flexed and Alexander found himself staring self consciously. 

Alexander knew he was scrawny and sick looking - it came from being sick a lot as a child. It’s why he always wore long sleeves, so no one would stare at his pale, skinny arms. Thomas, on the other hand, looked like he was able to play sports as a kid and into adulthood, and could do manual labor. Maybe that’s what living in the South did to people - made them strong, smart, capable. Confident. 

Alexander took the platter and put it down, using the tongs to put mango and pineapple onto his plate. He took a bite of a piece of mango, hummed quietly to himself, and busied himself with eating. 

He cut into his pancake, and to his surprise a blueberry burst as he did it. He looked around for syrup, found some, and put a little onto the pancake - just enough to moisten it but not enough to saturate it. 

Thomas didn’t look up the entire time, his curls shifting with every turn of his page, every bite of his food - seemingly every thought he had. They ate together in companionable silence, Thomas reading his book and laughing occasionally, Alexander focusing on the food in front of him and the flavors - more than he had tasted in so long - that his kind host had made. 

Alexander took a taste of the eggs - they had salt and pepper in them, and had been cooked in butter. They were delicious, and they didn’t make his stomach seize. He happily munched them and the pancake down, ate all his fruit, and took a bite of a sausage patty - it had to be homemade, there’s no way any store bought sausage would be as good as it was. It was slightly spicy, with a bit of a savory herbed undertone to it. It wasn’t overly greasy and he felt fine eating it, so he ate two of them. 

Soon, they finished eating and started cleaning. Music was still playing in the background and Thomas moved with it gracefully as he cleared the table. He took everything into the kitchen. Alexander stood off to the side, not wanting to get in the way. 

“Did you need help?” Alexander asked, hesitantly waiting for an answer. 

“Yeah, actually, that’d be great,” Thomas replied, “If you could rinse the syrup and fruit juice off the plates, that’d be awesome. It doesn’t always come off in the dishwasher.”

Alexander nodded and walked to the sink, “Just rinse and put in the dishwasher, right?” 

Thomas nodded, bringing the rest of the dishes in, “Yeah, it’s already empty, so just put ‘em in.” 

Thomas started to tidy up the kitchen - cleaning up the egg he had spilled a bit while cooking, wiping down the counters, putting pans into the dishwasher. Once Alexander and Thomas had it filled, Thomas started it and turned to look at Alexander. 

“So,” he started, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”  
Alexander felt his face blanche when Thomas asked him that. Admittedly, it was strange that the New Yorker had suddenly shown up in Virginia, and even stranger that he didn’t continue to South Carolina. But, as soon as his car crossed the Maryland-Virginia line, his brain went into autopilot and he drove – seemingly aimlessly – here.   
And Thomas had just accepted it. Alexander rang his doorbell at one in the morning, and Thomas had answered. He was bleary eyed and confused, but saw the look on Alexander’s face – fear, worry, fatigue – and waved his hand to let him in. He didn’t ask questions, simply pointed Alexander in the direction of a guest room and went back to bed. No requests to talk like Alexander would have gotten from Hercules in New York, no desire to cuddle like he would have felt for Lafayette, and no John at all.   
It was perfect. Until Thomas started to ask questions.   
“I needed to get out of the city,” Alexander said simply, “All of the cities. Boston, New York, D.C. I needed time away.”   
Thomas made a noise – “hmm.” – and looked Alexander up and down. The northerner was right, the South seemed to agree with him. Though it may have just been a good night’s sleep, Alexander seemed to be more relaxed and calmer than Thomas had ever seen him. When he had turned up the night before, he looked like he’d been to hell and back.   
“Well, you came all this way,” Thomas said contemplatively, “You’ll probably have to leave again soon, as I’m sure you have work to do up north. How long were you thinking of staying?”  
Alexander thought for a minute. He hadn’t thought about it, and to be honest he didn’t want to, “Honestly, I’m on my way to South Carolina. I need to be there in a couple days for a visit. So I can leave tonight if you want.” He didn’t want to be a bother. He knew about Southern hospitality, but he didn’t want to intrude.   
“No, you can stay. It’s a big house, and I have work to do here anyway,” Thomas thought for a second, “You said you’re headed to South Carolina? What’s there?”   
Alexander looked at his feet, bare underneath the long pajama pants. He noticed the intricate tiling of the kitchen floor and wondered how long it’d been there. He also didn’t really want to talk about why he was headed to South Carolina, and thinking about it honestly made it worse.   
“A visit,” Alexander said simply.   
Thomas watched Alexander as the music filled the air. He watched as Alexander focused on his toes, the tile – anything but Thomas’ face. The discomfort in his face became more apparent and his ears turned red – out of what? Anger? Hurt? Embarrassment? Was Alexander feeling anything?   
“To….?” Thomas knew that John Laurens was from South Carolina – the accent was unmistakable when you met him, and he always retained a rebellious spirt just like the state. But Thomas hadn’t heard anything that would make Alexander upset.   
Of course, that didn’t mean something hadn’t happened.   
“John.” Alexander said, a bit of hurt in his voice as he was trying to mask it.   
Thomas knew Alexander, and knew that this is where it would end. He was tugging on his sleeves, fiddling with his fingers, and starting to fidget. He needed to escape, and this was truly the place to do it. No one would think to look here, not since Thomas had resigned and moved to another job – away from New York and Boston.   
“Well, okay!” Thomas said, clapping his hands together, “If you need, there’s a shower attached to your room. I was planning on going to get some groceries today, so if you want you can come. Otherwise, the whole of Monticello is open to you.”  
Alexander let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and smiled, looking at Thomas’ smile – wider than the sky and brighter than the sun – and thanked him. He ducked out of the kitchen and went back to his – the, not his – room to shower.


	2. Open the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is really just ch 2 from Thomas' perspective. There's some added stuff. 
> 
> Also TW: self harm reference

Thomas had been having a lovely time away from the noise of the city – the cars, the yelling, the ambient noise. He much preferred home, where the only ambient noise was the frogs, the wind, and the river. That being said, he was also enjoying being alone at home. D.C always felt slimy, what with all the backroom deals and senators undermining each other; New York was far too fast-paced for the Virginian; and Boston was full of people who couldn’t talk – Thomas was friends with John Adams for six months before he could fully understand what he was saying. Monticello, however, was perfect – just close enough to Charlottesville that he could get groceries or anything else he needed, but not so close that he could hear anything.   
He was sleeping when he heard the doorbell ring. It was early – or late? Thomas couldn’t tell – and there was someone at the door. He assumed it was just some kids from up the river and ignored it, but then it rang again. Groaning, he rolled himself out of bed, being careful to not roll into his office but his bedroom, pulled on a robe, and walked slowly to the door. When he opened it, he had no expectations as to who was on the other side – he didn’t think he’d find anyone, except maybe air. But instead, he opened the door and found –   
“Alexander?” Thomas said drowsily, looking at the – what was on his face? – scared? confused? hurt? Alexander on the other side of his doorframe.   
Alexander just looked at him as though he didn’t know how he had gotten there either. Thomas wasn’t upset, though it was no secret that Thomas and Alexander weren’t best friends, Thomas wasn’t rude enough to turn him away. Thomas simply stepped out of the door frame and gestured for Alexander to come in.   
The New Yorker stepped through the doorway and toed his shoes off in the foyer quietly, as though not wanting to wake Thomas more than he had. He looked around, eyes wide at the deep mahogany of the door frames and railings. Thomas quietly stalked up the stairs and Alexander was close behind, following him.   
Thomas gestured to the room that was normally reserved for James when he came over – though he had just left so everything was fresh and clean inside. Alexander nodded quickly and ducked in, his bag trailing behind him like a child’s blanket and closed the door.   
Thomas went back into his own room, took his robe off, and climbed back into bed – now of course fully awake. He needed to know why in the world Alexander had driven 6 hours and stopped here and not at a hotel or in Boston or D.C or any number of places between New York and Charlottesville. He had so many friends along the way……  
Friends.   
“Holy shit!” Thomas jolted up, remembering that he had friends actually in common with Alexander, and could possibly find out why he was there. He leaned over to grab his phone off the nightstand and typed out a message. There were dots where Lafayette was typing, but Thomas put his phone down and laid down, shoving his face into his pillow. He would read the text in the morning when he got up.   
Of course, that would require him to actually sleep – which was fleeting for whatever reason. He had planned to get up early, maybe hit the gym or go for a run, but with a guest in the house, he couldn’t help but think about what his mom would say. Probably something along the lines of, “Thomas, if you have a guest, you have to feed them!”, because she was a proper Southern lady raising a proper Southern son.   
So that’s how Thomas found himself in his kitchen at 7am on a Saturday, making eggs and pancakes.   
When he cooked, he played music, and the only music suitable for making eggs and pancakes was classical. He loved the crescendos and decrescendos of it, and the way that strings flowed into the flutes and percussion. He however did not love that it probably wasn’t loud enough to cover the huge crash coming from the cabinet of pots and pans while he tried to pull out an electric griddle.   
He hoped that he didn’t wake Alexander up – the poor kid needed sleep.   
As time went on, Thomas was confident that he hadn’t woken Alexander up and went back to humming and conducting his pretend orchestra while his mind went into autopilot. His mother had taught him while he was very young to make pancakes, and he made them all the time, so he just threw them together. Eggs weren’t terribly complicated, so those came together quickly. But then, as he was pouring more pancake batter onto the griddle, he remembered that Alexander probably ate meat and would want some with breakfast.   
He went over to the refrigerator and pulled out some of the sausage that James had brought over last time – locally made in the area James lived in – and made some of it into patties. He made four 3-inch wide patties and threw them onto the griddle, away from the pancakes. The boy was skinny and needed to eat anyway, four sausages would probably be fine for him.   
While this was happening, Alexander had stopped in the doorway – Thomas knew, and Alexander obviously knew, but Thomas wasn’t sure that Alexander knew he knew. Thomas threw his arms around to the music, conducting his orchestra again, and at the end of a particularly dramatic song, brought his arms down with force, narrowly missing both the griddle and his coffee mug.   
“Nice moves,” Alexander said quietly from the doorway.   
“Thanks,” Thomas said as coolly as possible, trying not to give away that he had known Alexander was there the whole time, “There’s coffee if you’d like – it’s fairly strong, but I figured that’s what you liked, so…” Thomas let his sentence trail off there, not wanting to engage the young man in more conversation than he was ready for.  
“I would love some, thanks,” his guest said, moving toward him. He took the coffee mug, filled it to the top, and took a long drink of it without adding anything.   
Thomas fiddled with the edges of his pancakes, waiting for them to be brown enough to flip without them going everywhere, “How is it?”  
“Perfect, thank you,” Alexander leaned against the countertop, looking at Thomas, “How long until you’re done?”   
“A couple more minutes, if you can wait,” Thomas replied, gently ribbing his guest.   
“I can wait,” Alexander said deadpan.  
“That’s new,” Thomas turned his head to look at him and smiled, “I would have never guessed that you, Alexander Hamilton, could wait for anything.”  
“Well, the south apparently agrees with me,” Alexander smiled wide, “I guess you were right, this place is a lot nicer than any apartment in New York or hotel room in Boston.”  
“I told you,” Thomas said while plating the pancakes, “Monticello is more beautiful than anywhere.”   
Alexander laughed, but it quickly died in his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, long enough for Thomas to start to ask a question – but before he knew it, Alexander was gone and walking toward the dining room.  
Thomas set all the food on the ledge that divided the kitchen from the dining room – a touch his mother had added when she moved in, so that she could see her kids while they did their homework and she made dinner. Alexander pulled it off and set it down. Thomas heard him inhale deeply and wondered when the last time he had eaten a full meal was. He was looking thinner than usual. Thomas watched as they sat down together and Alexander looked at all the food in front of him, eyes wide.   
Thomas sat in his usual spot – the one his father used to sit in, at the head of the table. It helped that he had already sort of claimed it with a book, but nonetheless, Alexander didn’t even attempt to sit there. But he did sit in Thomas’ mother’s seat, which felt almost right, like he belonged there.   
Alexander seemed hesitant to get food, so Thomas started a plate for himself. He piled eggs onto his plate and grabbed a lot of fruit, and added a pancake to round it out. He was being watched, which made him highly self-conscious and nervous. The music was still playing, and so his movements instinctually flowed with the music.   
Finally, Alexander got started on his own plate. Thomas opened his book and started reading where he had left off. Through his curls, he watched Alexander’s movements, what he grabbed for and what he didn’t so he remembered not to put it out again – it wouldn’t do to put out things your guests didn’t like. He stopped himself over the sausage as though trying to decide if he wanted any – did Alexander eat meat? Thomas realized he didn’t actually know and just assumed. He was cursing himself mentally when Alexander said his name and pointed to the plate of fruit next to him.   
“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Thomas said lamely as he picked up the platter with his left hand. Alexander grabbed it with both hands and Thomas noticed that he had scars on the underside of his wrists and – were those? – scabs? Thomas flinched a little when he saw it and Alexander was staring at him again.   
They ate together – Thomas was pretending to read while actually observing Alexander’s behavior, Alexander was eating – and it wasn’t awkward. Thomas would go so far as to call it friendly.   
Thomas watched as Alexander started eating, and smiled when he cut into the blueberry – the small moment of surprise made Thomas laugh. He watched as his guest ate happily and reached for the sausage. Alexander ate two pieces of sausage and left the other two.   
As they finished, Thomas started gathering up all the dishes and Alexander quickly got out of the way. He looked nervous and out of place.  
“Did you need help?” Alexander asked, his voice quiet and hesitant.  
Thomas’ heart broke a little, wondering what happened to him to make him suddenly quiet and hesitant. Those were not words the ever described Alexander Hamilton – patient, quiet, hesitant? No. Impulsive, loud, brash – absolutely.   
“Yeah, actually, that’d be great,” Thomas just wanted the poor boy to have something to do, “if you could rinse the syrup and fruit juice off the plates, that’d be awesome. It doesn’t always come off in the dishwasher,” Thomas lied smoothly, hoping Alexander wouldn’t notice. He had a pretty nice dishwasher, so the concept of it not getting it all off was a stretch at best.   
Alexander nodded and walked into the kitchen, “Just rinse and put it in the dishwasher, right?”  
Thomas nodded, following behind him, “Yeah, it’s already empty, so just put ‘em in.”  
He looked around the kitchen and noticed he had made a bit of a mess – egg, flour, batter, coffee – and got to work cleaning up. He liked his kitchen at least to be tidy, another hold over from his mother. Once they got everything cleaned up, Thomas turned to look at Alexander and studied him for a moment.   
He was thin, but that wasn’t new. His hair was greasy, but again that wasn’t new. He had bags under his eyes, but that also wasn’t new. There was something off – like he had been knocked just slightly out of the current timeline and was just a ghost.   
“So,” Thomas started carefully, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Thomas tried not to come off angry or accusatory – God knows that’s the last thing this boy needed right now, but Thomas needed to know. He hadn’t looked at his phone yet except to see that Lafayette had texted him back.   
Alexander just stared at the ground, his face whiter than ever. The bags under his eyes became darker, and he started to shake slightly – only evident from the hair leaning into his face.   
“I needed to get out of the city,” Alexander said quietly, “All of the cities. Boston, New York, D.C. I needed time away.”  
“Hmm,” Thomas said simply. That didn’t explain why in the world Alexander had shown up at Monticello, or why he had shown up at 1am, or why he was travelling south to begin with – the Schuylers had a home in Upstate New York – Albany? – that Alexander was always welcome at, “Well, you came all this way. You’ll probably have to leave again soon, as I’m sure you have work to do up north. How long were you thinking of staying?”   
Alexander took a long pause – he was thinking and when he finally spoke, Thomas was a little surprised, “Honestly, I’m on my way to South Carolina. I need to be there in a couple days for a visit. So I can leave tonight if you want.”  
Thomas wanted to jump up and down and wave his arms dramatically while screaming “NO” because clearly Alexander didn’t want to go to South Carolina, but also felt guilt about intruding into Thomas’ house, which was also understandable, “No, you can stay. It’s a big house, and I have work to do here anyway,” Thomas thought for a minute, finally connecting the dots, “You said you’re headed to South Carolina? What’s there?”   
Thomas was reasonably sure John Laurens was in D.C for something – a rally? A march? – and wasn’t home. But he hadn’t heard from John in a while and wasn’t sure what was going on. But from the way Alexander was looking at his feet, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.   
“A visit,” Alexander said simply, to the floor as though he was counting the tiles on the ground. Alexander’s ears turned red – what was he feeling? Anything?   
“To….?” Thomas prodded, but wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know the answer.   
“John,” Alexander said, but Thomas could hear the hurt a mile away. Something had happened to John, and it had destroyed Alexander. He couldn’t go any farther with his questions, and he didn’t want to. Alexander started tugging on his sleeves awkwardly and fidgeted more.   
“Well, okay!” Thomas clapped his hands together and tried not to notice when Alexander flinched, “If you need, there’s a shower attached to your room. I was planning on going to get some groceries today, so if you want, you can come. Otherwise, the whole of Monticello is open to you.”   
Alexander smiled at Thomas and Thomas smiled back. Alexander thanked him and went back upstairs. Thomas heard water start running through the pipes and went to turn up his music. He looked around at his home, thought for a moment, and went after his phone.   
He climbed the stairs quickly, jumping up each one to reach the top. As he walked by the guest room, he heard Alexander humming to himself in the shower – one of the songs that Thomas had played during breakfast. Thomas turned into his room, smiling to himself and wondering if Alexander felt comfortable enough to hum around him without walls, shower curtains, and doors in between.   
Thomas went after his phone, picking it up and quickly putting his passcode in and going through his messages. There were a couple from James – mostly him talking about Dolley and what his plans for the weekend were – and several from Lafayette.  
 **Lafayette (2:00am): Alexander showed up in Virginia?  
Lafayette (2:00am): I thought he was still in New York!   
Lafayette (2:01am): He needs to come back up north.   
Lafayette (2:01am): There’s NOTHING down there for him anymore.   
Lafayette (2:01am): Send him home. Tomorrow. **  
Thomas shook his head, confused. Nothing down south for him? Laurens was in South Carolina, and Thomas knew they were close. It didn’t make any sense, at the very least he had to come this far to get to D.C and work.   
Thomas typed out a quick message back to Lafayette – **are you going to tell me why or** – and put his phone down again. He flopped back onto his bed, bouncing slightly. The shower was still going, how long had it been on? The water came from a well, so it didn’t really matter how long he was in the shower, but Thomas needed a shower too at some point.   
Instead of sitting there uselessly, Thomas thought, I could go actually check on him, maybe go for a run…..   
He got up and took long steps to the guest room bathroom, and wasn’t entirely prepared for what he saw.  
Blood. And tears. Mostly tears, very little blood, but some nonetheless. Alexander was curled into the corner of the shower, shaking and crying, holding his right arm to his chest – is that where the blood was coming from?   
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Alexander said quietly, “I was just scratching my wrist – the scabs itched – and one broke open.” His head dropped and he kept crying quietly  
“It’s….. it’s okay….,” Thomas said, slowly pulling off his pajama bottoms and t-shirt to leave his boxers on and climbing into the shower, silently thanking God he had the guest bathroom remodeled to accommodate several people in the shower – a plan he didn’t think was needed but he went with anyway. He awkwardly reached up to turn the shower away from them so he could get a good look at Alexander.   
Alexander was right, he hadn’t done it on purpose – Thomas could tell by the red mark on Alexander’s wrist from scratching. Not that Thomas would have been upset either way, him and Alexander weren’t really friends anyway.   
They sat next to each other for a few minutes in silence – Alexander’s tears stopped and turned into small whimpers, Thomas just sat next to him not wanting to get too close. Then, Thomas broke the silence.  
“Lafayette says you need to go home,” Thomas said simply, no inflection, no feeling.   
Alexander sighed deeply, looking down, “Yeah, I know. He…. He texted me this morning. Something about Eliza and Hercules.”   
Thomas nodded, “So are you going?”   
Alexander didn’t reply, just got up and stretched. Thomas very pointedly looked down at the ground. Alexander walked around him, turned off the water, and left. Left Thomas alone.   
Again.


	3. Death Doesn't Discriminate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An adventure into town, a discovery. 
> 
> CW: reference to self-harm & suicide (non-explicit)

After leaving an incredibly awkward shower, Alexander found himself pulling back on an oversized pair of pajama pants and laying face down on his bed. He groaned as he heard his phone vibrate for possibly the tenth time in five minutes. He was purposely ignoring it, since someone – he assumed Thomas – had told Lafayette that he was in Virginia, and Lafayette can’t keep a secret so Eliza and Hercules knew.   
Alexander groaned as his phone started to ring, but he ignored it. He left in the middle of the night for a reason – he wanted to be left alone. Which is why he was in the south to begin with! There was no one here to bother him – Thomas and he didn’t get along well enough to be considered friends and his only other friend in the south was….  
A single tear dropped out of Alexander’s eye. His only friend in the south was dead. John was dead – never coming back, six-feet under dead. It was probably for the better anyway; the fewer people around Alexander the better at this point. He was falling into a pattern of self-destruction that he didn’t want to pull others into.   
Alexander shut his eyes, exhausted again even after a good night’s sleep. It was only 10am and he was already ready for a nap. He pushed his damp hair off his neck and pulled the light quilt over himself and fell asleep.   
_He had been in the shower when the call came in. He was listening to Don’t Let Me Down when Lafayette’s call interrupted it. He shut off the water, dried his hands, and answered.  
“You need to get down here,” Lafayette said hurriedly, as though he was running, “Like, right now.”   
“Where?” Alexander was confused, Lafayette was in D.C last he knew and that was a four hour drive from New York.  
“Brooklyn,” Lafayette said quickly, “It’s John.”   
Alexander threw his clothes on and grabbed his keys, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Do you have any information for me?”   
“No.”_  
Alexander jumped awake, feeling air hit his face. Thomas had opened the French doors in his room again and walked away. Alexander pretended to be asleep still as Thomas walked by, but Thomas stopped to brush some hair off of Alexander’s face. It was stuck in a tear track, which gave Alexander the perfect opportunity to stir slightly. He groaned softly and snuggled back into his pillow. Thomas yanked his hand back, worried to wake Alexander up. Alexander saw his brows furrow in worry as Thomas walked away mumbling to himself.  
“Ridiculous….. shows up…” Thomas muttered to himself as he walked away, Alexander only hearing bits of what he was saying.   
Guilt pooled in his stomach at that. He knew he had put Thomas out by showing up without warning or plan or explanation. In Alexander’s defense, he was going to text Thomas and tell him he was passing through, but hesitated when he saw it was 12:45am and figured Thomas should sleep as long as humanly possible before he woke him up.   
“I’ll leave tonight,” Alexander said in a voice barely above a whisper – more to himself than Thomas. Thomas didn’t want him here, didn’t need him here. Alexander was sure there was work to do, and anyway he needed to pick a direction – North or South? Toward pain or away? Alexander simply closed his eyes and went back to sleep.   
Thomas walked away, muttering, “This is ridiculous. He shows up, no explanation, sleeps all day – and why? What could have possibly happened?”  
Thomas went back to his room and grabbed his iPad and phone, and went back downstairs. He needed another cup of coffee and figured he could catch up on the news out of D.C and the mess happening in congress while Alexander slept.   
He was absolutely not ready for what he saw.   
_Oldest Laurens Son Shot, Dies In Apartment._  
“Oh no…” Thomas looked up the stairs, as if expecting Alexander to have appeared there silently, “Oh no.”   
Thomas read through the article: _Accidental firing of his weapon… Cleaning… Chest… Alone…_  
“My god.” Thomas could think of nothing else to say. He looked at the date of the article – three days ago, “Oh, my god.”   
Thomas put the tablet down and stared at the stairs. His fists clenched and unclenched with anxiety as he thought out his next move. He picked up his phone, opened his phone app, and called Lafayette.  
“Thomas if he is not on the road right now…” Lafayette answered hotly.  
“Pourquoi ne pas tu me dire,” Thomas cut him off, speaking quietly “Pourquoi ne pas tu me dire!”   
“Vous n'étaient pas exactement la première que j'ai pensé quand j'ai reçu l'appel téléphonique, Thomas,” Lafayette said quickly, easily slipping into French, “Ce n'est pas comme si vous avez pris soin.”  
“Vous pourriez me l'ont dit hier soir quand j'ai demandé pourquoi Alexander a montré jusqu'ici!” Thomas replied angrily, “Je me serais épargné de demander pourquoi il était ici et à la recherche comme un connard!”   
“There’s nothing I could have said that would have saved you from that, Thomas,” Lafayette said sadly, “You have a tendency to put your foot in your mouth no matter what.”   
Thomas put his head on the table, whispering into the receiver, “What do I do? How can I help?”  
“Don’t,” Lafayette said, voice suddenly full of anger, “Send him home. Don’t try to help him, you’ll just make it worse.”  
“How much worse can it get than a dead boyfriend, La?” Thomas asked at a normal tone, picking up his head.   
“Il ne peut pas faire pire,” Alexander replied from the doorway.   
Thomas’ eyes widened, horrified that Alexander had heard him, “Shit. Lafayette, I gotta go…” Thomas hung up, hearing a distant “Damn it, Jefferson!” from the other end of the like, “How… much of that did you hear?”   
“Enough to know that you know what happened.”   
“Shit Alexander, I’m…”   
“Nope! Don’t wanna hear it!” Alexander cut him off, “I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t wanna hear you talk about it. I. Want. To. Drop. It.”   
Thomas looked at his guest, wondering what else had happened – John was an incredibly careful man and was not prone to accidents. He knew his way around a gun, knew better than to leave it loaded while cleaning it.   
“Well then, on that note, I have to go into town and grab some things,” Thomas pushed his chair back, standing and pocketing his phone, “You’re welcome to join me. We can pick up whatever you need while we’re out.”   
“Sure. It’s not like there’s much to do in this dump anyway,” Alexander teased, smiling a little, “It’s a little small.”   
“Se taire,” Thomas said, gently shoving Alexander’s shoulder with his elbow as he walked by. He noticed that it was bonier than it had been the last time they saw each other – and that was saying something. Thomas started up the stairs, “Alright, you cannot go out like that. You look like a kid.”  
Alexander looked down at his long-sleeved shirt and too-long pants and smiled a little, “Yeah, you’re right.”  
They reached the top of the stairs and turned away from each other, going into their respective spaces. Alexander closed the door pointedly behind him, creating more than just a physical barrier between he and Thomas. Thomas sighed and went into his room, leaving his door slightly ajar so as to keep the distance to a minimum.   
Thomas checked the weather on his phone – 65 and sunny, a pretty average mid-autumn day in Virginia. He dug through his closet to find a thick, blue, chunky sweater and pulled it over his head. He paired it with a pair of black jeans and low cut socks. He stuck his phone and wallet in in his pockets and walked back out of his room, almost running into Alexander.   
Thomas’ heart stopped.   
Alexander had changed into a soft looking red flannel and black skinny jeans. The flannel was unbuttoned and underneath was a “Black Lives Matter” shirt that hung off his frame like it wasn’t his. His pants hung low, bagging around his shoes – which looked like they had been to hell and back with him.   
Alexander was furiously texting someone and thankfully didn’t notice that he was being stared at. He scowled at it, angrily pressing each letter and muttering to himself, “Fucking interfering Frenchman, god damn fucking jackass, can’t keep his nose out of other people’s business.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed, rolling his head back onto his shoulders.   
“Everything alright?” Thomas asked, turning to go down the stairs.   
“Sure. My best friend is yelling at me in two different languages, but yes I’m fine,” Alexander growled through clenched teeth and following Thomas down.  
“Well, he’s trying to help. He wants you to come home,” Thomas shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his keys off the plate by the door.   
“Home is not where Laf is, Thomas,” Alexander followed Thomas out the door, “I’m thinking about…”   
Alexander’s words trailed off as they walked toward the garage, walking side-by-side. Thomas was wondering where he was going with this. Thomas knew where Alexander was from – some small island in the Caribbean – and also knew it wasn’t exactly happy, and can’t imagine why he would consider going back. Or even if that’s what he was thinking. God really only knew.   
They climbed into Thomas’ car and drove up the long driveway to the road. Their elbows touched on the center console and Alexander pulled away like he’d been shocked. Thomas heard his phone vibrate a couple times, but each time Alexander just looked and didn’t reply to anything.   
\--  
Their trip to town hadn’t been that exciting. Thomas noticed the people around looking at Alexander’s shirt and realized he should have probably told him to change it – or at least button the flannel he wore over it. For every look of anger on someone’s face, Thomas moved in closer to Alexander. He knew he looked at least a little imposing – his 6’2 frame towering over Alexander’s 5’7, Thomas’ broad shoulders hunched slightly forward as though that would help anything. While they were in the store, Alexander was focused on his phone and got a call. He stopped in the middle of the produce department to talk quietly into the receiver in hurried French to whoever was on the other end. Thomas kept walking, going for spinach and romaine for dinner.   
“Man, why can’t people just speak English?” Thomas heard from the apples, “They come to our country, the least they can do is learn the language.”  
Alexander hadn’t heard it, thankfully totally focused on his phone call, muttering, “Non… non,” to whoever was on the other end. But even so, the men picking out apples kept going.   
“Fucking Mexicans,” one said to the other, leaning in to say something else quietly.   
Thomas walked over, leaning towards them, “Uhm, hi. I heard you talking,” Thomas smiled widely, “He’s speaking,” Thomas leaned over more, right into their face, “fucking. French.” Thomas leaned back, walking away and grabbed Alexander by the elbow guiding him out of the area before the men figured out what’s going on.   
“J'ai besoin de vous pour cesser de me poser à…” Alexander was cut off, and Thomas heard angry French in the background of the call, “Non! Je ne veux pas revenir à la maison et pourtant, j'ai besoin d'aller….” He walked next to Thomas, following him into the check-out line, “Yeah, fine. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up, “GOD. He will not let me be!”   
Thomas stifled a laugh, “He’s your friend, he wants to…”  
“Yeah I know, he wants to help, but he’s not,” Alexander slumped against the belt, putting his hands on his face and groaning loudly, “I need another nap!”   
Thomas sighed and put his groceries on the belt. More sleep would probably not help, but whatever. It wasn’t his place to tell Alexander how to live. They weren’t friends, they weren’t acquaintances, they weren’t even enemies – just ships passing in the night.   
They checked out, Thomas paid, and they went back to Monticello. Alexander helped put the groceries away and went back upstairs, taking a cup of coffee and hiding away. Thomas heard the door shut and tried not to let it get to him.   
\--  
Alexander didn’t reappear until dinner time, looking disheveled and sleepy. He slumped into the kitchen and looked into the fridge, searching for something quick. He didn’t want to impose any more on Thomas who was making food on the stove behind him. He grabbed an apple and walked back out of the kitchen.   
“I’m making pasta,” Thomas called after him, “It’ll be ready soon. I figured we can eat on the deck?”   
But Alexander wasn’t listening, he was really focused on a text he was reading, “Motherfucker.”  
“What?”   
Alexander came back into the kitchen and shoved his phone into Thomas’ face, “This! This right here. Fuck this shit. Fuck him!” Alexander handed the phone to Thomas and continued to stomp around the kitchen angrily.   
**Laf (4:15pm): I’m coming down.**  
“Shit dude!” Thomas exclaimed, “That’s awesome?”   
Alexander groaned, “No, it’s not!” he snatched the phone out of Thomas’ hand and thought for a second.   
_If Lafayette comes I have to talk about it, and then I have to explain to Lafayette why I’m in Virginia, and why I was headed to South Carolina._  
Alexander’s face fell from annoyed amusement to fear and horror. Tears formed in his eyes and he ran upstairs, frantically dialing a number, hoping for comfort from a voice on the other end.   
“Hey, you’ve reached John. Leave a message!” a beep, and then silence.   
“Hey John…” Alexander started, “It’s me, Alex. Uhm… shit’s getting out of hand and I can’t handle it anymore. Uhm… I think I’m going to come see you soon,” tears started leaking out of his eyes, choking up a little, “I really… miss you. It’s only been a couple days and your phone is dead? You must not have charged it before…” Alexander stopped at the edge of the bed he was using and flopped forward, “I… Love you,” and hung up. He shoved his face into a pillow and wailed into it.   
He picked up his phone again, thumbing through it to get to the voicemail section, finding the only ones he had saved.   
“Hey Alex… It’s uhm… Well, you know. Uhm, things are… bad. Like, really bad? And I don’t know what to do? I think… it’s… too much. Everything feels too much, and I feel too much going on. D.C is jumping, and this protest is awesome, but it’s too much…”   
“Hey, it’s me again. I’m back in New York, and wanna see you again. I’m gonna be home in like twenty minutes. If you wanna avoid the…. ya know… it’ll be a little longer, maybe an hour or two.”   
“Alex! It’s me! There’s an emergency! Get down here!”  
More tears, more regret, more pain. Those messages were like reliving that day over and over and over. Why would he save them, who knows! His mind drifted to the sharps he kept in the bottom of his bag, how heavy they are in his hand… He found his way to it, pulled out his toiletry bag, and looked into it.   
Sterile blades, headphones, and a first aid kit. Untouched since high school.   
Perfect.   
He picked himself up, took his phone and the bag into the bathroom and closed the door. Thomas was cooking downstairs and had his own music up, so he wouldn’t notice anything for a bit. He sat in the bathtub, crossed his legs and pulled off the flannel he wore to look at his arms.   
A spiderweb covered them, white lines crisscrossing over each other, some deeper than others. Some were attempts, others just for the feeling – a reminder that he was indeed alive. He looked down at the t-shirt he had on. It was John’s, the only thing that had been left in his apartment when his dad cleaned up. It hadn’t been washed, and still smelled like the smoky sweet of his house.   
He took it off and threw it across the room.   
Pulled open a blade.  
Chose a spot.  
And.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I used an online translator for the French in this chapter and it probably sucked. Let me know anything I messed up. Below is the English version. 
> 
> "Why do not you tell me," Thomas cut him off, speaking quietly "Why do not you tell me!"  
> "You were not exactly the first that I thought when I received the phone call, Thomas," Lafayette said quickly, easily slipping into French, "This is not as if you have taken care of it."  
> "You could have said to me last night when I asked why Alexander has shown up here!" Thomas angrily replied, "I would be spared to ask why he was here and look like an asshole!"
> 
> "Il ne peut pas faire pire." = It doesn't get worse. 
> 
> "Se taire" = shut up.
> 
> ""I need you to stop asking me to…" Alexander was cut off, and Thomas heard angry French in the background of the call, "No! I do not want to return to the House, and yet, I need to go" (I don't remember what I was trying to say and now this sounds stupid.) 
> 
> As always I enjoy comments!


	4. Poor Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot here, but it's mostly just sad boys thinking sad thoughts. Bonus - Lafayette makes an appearance!
> 
> TW: suicide attempt; self-harm

After Alexander went upstairs, Thomas kept making dinner. He figured that he could make it now, set it in the oven, go for a run, come back, shower, and eat. That would probably take a long enough time for Alexander to take a nap, Lafayette to show up, and dinner to be done.  
Perfect. A solid plan.  
Thomas finished up dinner and put it into the oven – the cast iron skillet would survive in the oven at a low heat. He went upstairs, glanced at the closed guest room door, and kept moving without thinking. He stepped into his own room, closed the door completely, and started changing.  
He pulled off his jeans and shirt, and replaced them with running clothes – green shorts and a plain white shirt. It was warm enough that once he got going, long pants and sleeves would be too hot.  
He pulled his hair up into a bun and grabbed his armband off the dresser, stuffing his phone in. He pulled wireless headphones around his neck, and queued up a playlist. His head filled with music from his childhood as he went down the stairs and opened the front door. He closed it behind him, not bothering to lock it – who was going to break in? He looked at the sky, looked for signs the sun was going down, and decided he had time for six miles. Down the road and back, only once. Probably about an hour.  
Perfect.  
He started off, and let his mind go blank. His thoughts always wandered while he ran, and this time, they wandered toward the young man in his guest room. The pain he must feel, some inexplicable guilt on his face whenever the phone rang or when John was brought up – as though he killed him. Which wasn’t possible, it was an accident. Coroner and police proved it.  
Then he let his thoughts wander more, setting himself an easy pace. To the look on Alexander’s face when he showed up the night before – fear, sadness. It broke Thomas’ heart to see it, and that’s part of why he let him in. The main part, the biggest part. That, and it was one in the morning and there would be nowhere else for him to go at that time of night. It was safer for him at Monticello.  
Thomas just kept running.  
\--  
Alexander examined his work. It was clean, wouldn’t scar terribly. But, admittedly, it was a little deeper than he intended. A new environment, he was thrown off his game. An easy fix, but he just had to get his shit together do actually fix it. But the blood…. it was soothing, nice to look at.  
Best when it wasn’t splattered around his boyfriend’s apartment, a body outline on a chair. Better flowing down his arm than that.  
He sighed, using his good arm to lift himself up slightly to reach over and get the first aid kit. He pulled out the gauze wrap and some alcohol and went to work. His mind always wandered while he put himself back together – a performance practiced over and over since middle school. Today, it wandered to his host.  
Thomas was generous to a fault. Alexander knew that people took advantage of it too often – James stayed at Monticello so often that he had his own room for God’s sake – and Alexander couldn’t continue to do the same. He had to blow away again, pack his problems away and move along. But for now, he was enjoying his time in a large estate where the sun shined and the wind blew and he was alone for the most part.  
And, now that he thought about it, Thomas was pretty much the perfect person to be around right now. He didn’t ask too many questions. He gave Alexander the space he needed. He didn’t force him to go home immediately upon showing up.  
He stood up for Alexander.  
Usually when he thought Alexander wasn’t paying attention, and it was usually really subtle, but it was there. Whether he scooted closer when a storm rolled in while the worked or stood in front of him when someone got overly angry about something irrelevant – both seemingly small and maybe coincidental, but kind nonetheless. Alexander noticed and appreciated it, but never said anything.  
Of course, Alexander had tried to be there for Thomas too. He noticed when Thomas was getting nervous before giving a presentation and took the lead to let him collect himself. If Thomas started getting worried about something, Alexander knew to just let him be and brought him some tea.  
Thomas noticed and appreciated it, but never said anything.  
Alexander shook his head a little and went back to cleaning himself up. He wrapped a small amount of gauze around his upper forearm, and sighed. He pulled himself up, put his first aid kit away, wrapped up his blade, and took a nap.  
\--  
Thomas finally finished his run, and jogged up the stairs. He noticed that the sun had gone down a bit and the humidity had risen a bit – rain was coming. He sat down on the deck and stretched out his legs. The run had been a bit farther than he intended, closer to seven miles, and he needed to stretch and cool off his muscles before showering.  
He stood, groaning, and walked inside his home.  
On his couch, lounging like he owned the place and just on his phone as though he wasn’t trespassing was…  
“Lafayette!” Thomas exclaimed, jumping slightly back.  
Lafayette looked up from his phone, raised his eyebrows, made a “hmph” sound, and went back to texting.  
Thomas rolled his eyes – Lafayette could hold a grudge until it died of old age, and he would. At this point, Thomas didn’t care, but if this went on any longer, Thomas would be out another friend.  
“Est-ce que tu vas dire quelque chose?” Thomas asked angrily, shoving his shows off, “Vous avez montré jusqu'à ma chambre, et maintenant vous êtes sur le point de s'asseoir là et de ne pas me parler?”  
Lafayette just sat there, texting and giggling at whoever he was texting. Thomas wasn’t going to get a response right now, not until Lafayette was less pissed and given that he had just driven six hours – that wasn’t likely.  
Thomas huffed, and walked upstairs. He noticed that Alexander’s door was still closed, and Thomas wanted to make sure he was alright. He popped his head in, but wasn’t entirely prepared for he saw.  
Alexander was laying on top of the duvet in a t-shirt and boxers, one arm above his head and the other laying across his stomach. Thomas examined him for a moment – he looked calm and peaceful. But then Thomas noticed a white loop around Alexander’s arm, just below his elbow. A bit of blood had seeped through, appearing faintly on top of the loop.  
Thomas’ face blanched, and he stepped in, closing the door softly behind him. He knew he smelled terrible and needed a shower, but he needed to make sure his guest was alright and hadn’t passed out from blood loss.  
He snuck passed Alexander’s bag and stepped into the bathroom, looking around.  
It was still pristine? As though nothing happened.  
But… how? When?  
_Why?_  
Did Alexander feel like he needed to keep it a secret? Like Thomas didn’t already know?  
Thomas sighed and walked back out, closing the door behind him. He went over to his own room, closed the door, and stepped into the shower.  
He let the water run over his head, thinking about the past few days. His had been fine, but Alexander’s hadn’t been. His boyfriend was dead, he left his home, and was actively upset. His friend called to yell at him, further upsetting him.  
Thomas lathered up some shampoo and washed the sweat out of his hair. He rinsed it out, sighing as the suds slid down his torso toward his feet. He examined his body, checking in on the muscles and tendons, cracking joints and his spine. He rubbed his arms, bringing feeling back into them after his run. He massaged his shoulders, ran his hands down his sides, and bent at his hips to touch his toes. He ran his hands up his legs and stopped at his knee, felt for an old scar.  
He found it. Rubbed over it, a slight bump in the skin just under his knee – behind, not on the side. On the side would have been obvious, in front wouldn’t have worked. All his studying of James’ anatomy books in college helped him at that moment.  
_It had been a hard day at work – he fought with Hamilton, looked like a fucking fool in front of their boss, and couldn’t get drunk because he had a big race coming up. He sat on his couch, watching something brainless on Netflix and turned a knife in his hands – not too big, just a pocket knife, a kid could have bought it._  
_He was sitting cross legged, examining his legs, trying to find the vein James had mentioned. It was big, and lots of blood went through it. James had said, “If someone were to cut through it, they’d die! Isn’t that crazy, Tom?”_  
_James’ voice came to him from a million miles away, through a fog. His voice faded, replaced by his mother’s song, “Fais dodo, Thomas, mon p'tit frère/Fais dodo, t'auras du lolo./Maman est en haut, qui fait du gateau/Papa est en bas, qu'il fait du chocolat”. Her voice faded, only to be replaced by his father’s stern one, “You’ll never amount to anything, just a lonely, boring…”_  
_“Stop!” Thomas shouted into the empty house, half expecting a smack to come._  
_He looked at the knife, examined his leg, sat it on the coffee table in front of him and felt around, locating the vein the way James had when practicing phlebotomy._  
_He reached the knife around, touched it to the skin, and pressed down hard drawing it against his skin. He felt his leg ripped open and heard the blood hit the hardwood floor._  
_He didn’t feel pain, just relief. He made no move to stop the bleeding, no move to call anyone. He wanted to enjoy it, at least for a minute._  
_After a while, he started to feel the skin tighten and scab over. He picked up his phone, “James, I need you to come over. Bring Dolley, please,” and hung up._  
Thomas finished washing his body and stepped out of the shower. He rubbed himself dry and pulled on his pajama pants and a t-shirt. Dried his hair a little and pulled it up.  
When he walked out of his room, he saw Alexander’s door was open and heard muttering from inside.  
“Tu avez à la maison,” Lafayette said quickly, “We miss you.”  
“I don’t want to,” Alexander said stubbornly.  
“I know,” Lafayette said, voice gentler now, “But you can’t stay here.”  
“La, I know! It’s not like I was going to stay here forever,” Alex groaned, “I just really needed to get out of the city. I just,” Alexander paused, “ended up here. Autopilot, I guess.”  
Thomas sighed and pulled himself away from the door, going downstairs and pulling dinner out of the oven. He looked out the windows, saw the sky darkening and heard a low rumble of thunder. He was thankful everyone had showered and he had enough gas for a fire tonight – the way it was rolling in it looked like it was going to be rough and he needed his house to be comfortable while he had a guest. Or two guests? He wasn’t sure if Lafayette was staying or if he was going to stay at a hotel but Thomas was going to make absolutely damn sure that he ate.  
He heard laughing and chattering coming down the stairs, and saw Lafayette and Alexander coming down, attached to each other by headphones and they were laughing at something on the screen.  
“Jesus, Eliza, what the hell is that?” Alexander exclaimed, telling who was on the other end, “Where did he come from?” Alexander peered closer to Lafayette’s phone.  
“Dude she was pregnant when you left, what did you expect to happen?!” Lafayette laughed, shoving Alexander lightly.  
So, Eliza had a kid. That’s pretty cool, Thomas thought. He didn’t know she had wanted kids.  
“Food’s almost ready. I gotta go shut up the windows upstairs, but if ya’ll want, you can start eating,” Thomas said, tossing an oven mitt on the counter and walking passed Alexander and Lafayette.  
“Alright, Eliza we gotta go. Thomas made dinner,” Lafayette blew a kiss and tapped the screen, taking the headphones out of their ears and wrapped them around his phone, shoving it in his pocket, “Thomas’ food is superb, Alexander. You have not lived!”  
Alexander nodded, “Yeah, he made breakfast this morning, pancakes et cetera. It was… amazing,” Alexander smiled softly.  
“Alright, I can stay for dinner, but I have a reservation in Williamsburg, so I have to keep moving,” Lafayette laughed, taking long steps toward the kitchen table.  
Alexander nodded, “Yeah, let’s eat,” he looked nervously out the sliding door as rain started to fall.  
\--  
They ate and laughed and no one noticed the storm outside. Once dinner was done, they all cleaned up.  
“I need to get going,” Lafayette stretched his arms above his head, nearly touching the ceiling, “Alexander, call me. Thomas…”  
“Yeah?” Thomas asked, looking through the kitchen doorway.  
“Go to hell.”  
With that, Lafayette turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.  
Alexander tugged on his sleeves and looked at Thomas, “Sorry about that,” he looked down at the ground, “He’s… protective. And hurting,” Alexander’s eyes swept over Thomas, taking him in, “But he cares.”  
Thomas nodded, pouring dish soap into his dishwasher, “Hey, if James ran off to New York and stayed with you, I’d make my way up there and raise hell, just like Lafayette did,” Thomas smiled, “He’s your friend. Accept it.”  
Alexander laughed, “I guess,” he thought for a moment, shivering, “Uhm… so would it be okay for me to stay another night?”  
Thomas’ heart stopped, as he looked at the small man in his door way. The poor kid was terrified, a storm raged on outside, and he had no one to go home to.  
“Sure,” Thomas smiled, “Wanna watch a movie? Or some TV?”  
“Yeah,” Alexander perked up, “I’d like that.”  
Thomas walked toward him, turned off the kitchen and dining room lights, and walked into the living room, Alexander trailing behind him.  
\--  
As Alexander followed Thomas, is was hard to avoid staring. Thomas was perfect, all muscle and smooth skin. Nothing like Alexander’s own body – weak, scarred, fragile.  
Thomas gestured for Alexander to sit on the couch and pulled the curtains in the living room shut, helped to put Alexander at ease – more distance between the storm and him. Thomas sat next to Alexander, far enough away that it didn’t look purposeful but close enough that Alexander could lean over and lay his head on Thomas if he needed.  
Thomas queued up an episode of That 70’s Show – mindless, but amusing. Hours passed, and he felt Alexander slump over and his head landed in Thomas’ lap. Thomas jumped, but tried not to move too much.  
Tentatively, he brushed his fingers through Alexander’s hair. It was clean, if a little sweaty.  
More time passed and Thomas felt sleep start to overtake him. He turned the TV off, leaned his head back, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my friend for editing this!  
> Also, again if my translations suck let me know!  
> That song Thomas' mom sings is some French lullaby.

**Author's Note:**

> Look ya'll, I really like comments.


End file.
